


I'm In Control (Throw it Away)

by aerClassic



Series: At Your Service [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Filthy Rich CEO!Yunho, Flight Attendant!Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong Gets Around, Light BDSM, M/M, Unhealthy Start to a Healthy Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerClassic/pseuds/aerClassic
Summary: Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.Two day rotations between Seoul and Japan—between 3AM boarding calls and sleeping upright in the cramped attendant's seats—are a hellscape made only marginally better by the fact Hongjoong has someone he can take it out on waiting for him when he gets home.





	I'm In Control (Throw it Away)

 

 

They’re waving through the nth round of passengers for the day when Yujin—red mouth smiling around gleaming white teeth—leans imperceptibly into his side to whisper, “Gate seating to the left, four seats down,” she pauses to bow to an older gentleman trying to show off his boarding pass along with his obnoxiously fake Rolex. “The one with the weird mint hair. I would absolutely pretend to fall in his lap and accidentally suck his dick.”

Hongjoong shoulders shake with the repressed urge to laugh, actually has to bite the inside of one cheek to make sure his own customer service friendly smile stays in place. He whispers back, “I’d pay money to see you try.”

Several more passengers trudge by: a harried mother trying to corral two overactive toddler boys, an elderly couple leaning on each other as they slowly make their way down the receiving ramp, bored businessmen in their crisp tailored suits. It’s the same lineup everywhere, every time, at every hour. Some pause to make small talk like, “How’s the weather for flying today?” that he is required by contract to reply with, “Very fair!” or “A little cloudy so the ride may be a smidge rough. Not to worry, we’ll be there with you the whole way!”

Hongjoong had long ago accepted that he’ll never make meaningful memories with anyone he interacts with on a day to day basis that isn’t a coworker, or whichever pilot is taking over his shift that day. He’s not exactly _happy_ about it, but the hourly rate is nice and his paychecks are _gorgeous,_  so it works out.

Speaking of attractive stacks of cash, ‘gate seating four seats down’ is finally packing up his newspaper and his ipad into a heavy looking leather satchel. Hongjoong can make out the label from his vantage point by the steward desk and internally sucks his teeth; it’s Hermès. It’s _new_ Hermès. The guy doesn’t give them a second glance, only flashes his First Class stub—which, he should have been seated long before fake Rolex even had a chance to try his hand at flexing—walks confidently down the now empty receiving ramp like he owns stock.

Fuck, he probably _does_.

He’s the kind of effortlessly cool and rich that Hongjoong greedily wants to sink his teeth into until his wallet is bled dry. The part of him that lusts for luxury _everything_ goes hot, chest tight with how badly he wants to pull a Yujin and fall to his knees to peel this man out of his Yves Saint Laurent suit. Or, and this thought is so much better, make First Class seat 1A fall to his own and _beg him for it._

“How much money?” Yujin turns her body towards him wiggling her eyebrows once the last of First Class is seated, and awaiting their fresh hot towels and their watered down champagne as compensation for _suffering_ through the plane’s recycled air over the next few hours.

Hongjoong snaps out of his spiral to ask, “What?”

“How much money would you pay me to try and suck his dick?” Yujin repeats as she busies herself with a lock of hair that’s dislodged itself from the back of her meticulous, ultra tight bun.

Park Yujin is the only reason Hongjoong hasn’t gone certifiably insane over the four years they’ve been working together at Korean Air. Though, he’s fairly sure his slow descent into madness is inevitable, not unlike the eventual heat death of the universe, based solely on the amount of times she’s swooped in at the last second to save him from an ahjumma loudly commenting on the caliber of people allowed on airplanes or the greasy chaebols making passes at him. At least, the ones that don’t look old money.

They have a system and it works beautifully.

“I don’t know, a good bit. Enough for a Cartier love bracelet if you manage to get cum in your hair.” Hongjoong shoulders passed to get the demonstration oxygen mask and neck flotation device from an overhead cupboard. “And if you don’t, then I will.”

Yujin laughs as she tugs the door of the airplane closed, adjusts the starched hemline of her soft-white pencil skirt. “You’re such a whore, Hong-ie.”

Hongjoong smiles back, mostly because it’s true and she’s right—Yujin is generally right about most things. “Takes one to know one, babe.” Before they parade themselves out for the emergency safety briefing, he pulls her aside with a gentle palm at her elbow, “Come here, your jacket is wrinkled in the back.”

Yujin stands still long enough for him to adjust the seam, to run the edges flat with the tip of a nail and flick the back of her formal suit jacket straight, and sighs. “Sometimes I really hate that you’re too gay to function.” Hongjoong snorts unattractively. “We’d be perfect together.”

“Don’t kid yourself, we’d kill each other after the first shopping trip to duty-free Dior.” Hongjoong places a kiss in the air next to her ear while Yujin pouts. “I’ll let you have first pass at moneybags in 1A.”

“Always the gentleman,” Yujin sniffs, theatrically and not at all serious, before cracking her neck and adjusting the silk scarf tied at the base of her throat. “If this turns out like that time we were assigned to capsule seating, I’m not covering for you.”

“Bitch,” Hongjoong hisses back without heat, struggling not to laugh while Yujin pulls open the cabin curtain to start the demonstration Hongjoong could recite backwards and forwards by rote.

The last time they were assigned to an international flight with individual sleeper pods—Seoul to Japan that rotation, more often than not they’re trading shifts with the Incheon-London crew, but that had been a special case—Yujin had targeted a sleek looking woman draped head to toe in out of season Gucci. Hongjoong thought she was tacky, but Yujin swore up and down the Vivienne Westwood heels made up the difference.

At the time, he hadn’t had the heart to tell her they were knockoffs.

It had taken Yujin less than an hour to come stumbling her way back to the flight crew area with her lipstick smudged halfway down her chin, mouth swollen and wet. There was a run in her nylons Hongjoong was pretty sure could be seen from space.

“Food service starts in ten minutes, you hussy,” Hongjoong snickered at her failing attempts at straightening her rumpled skirt. “What happened in there? Did she fucking maul you?”

Yujin whined back, “She had a bigger dick than I was expecting, let me live,” and went through a lightning quick makeup change while Hongjoong, benevolently he might add, helped smooth out most of the wrinkles in the collar of her undershirt.

“Did you get a name?”

“Akira,” Yujin had sighed, dreamily and with a hint of desperation already, “She’s got someone waiting at home though, so it was just a one time thing.”

“Sucks.” Hongjoong loaded down their metal cart with prepared, reheated meals. “By the way, boss man is going to rip you a new one for walking around with those skanky holes in your stockings.”

Yujin had stared at him for half a second, lipstick only applied to one side of her mouth, and glanced down to moan in the direction of her knees. “Fuck.”

Hongjoong had given her a bracing pat on the back. “Worth it?”

“God, so worth it,” Yujin said, giving up any pretense of maintaining professional impropriety standards to slip off her heels and roll out of the ruined nylons, throwing the useless wad into a nearby mounted trashcan. “She’s really cool, I’m all kinds of upset someone got to her before me.”

Hongjoong had only given her a vague hum in reply, too amused by her antics to really offer up any useful advice. Landing in Fukuoka, Akira had stayed behind to place a lingering kiss to the pout of Yujin’s mouth; Hongjoong pretended not to see anything while simultaneously keeping watch for their superiors on board. That still didn’t stop the absolute ass-reaming Yujin received when their pilot finally emerged from his cocoon in the captain’s quarters and took notice of the bare skin of Yujin’s dress code violating legs.

Hongjoong is pretty sure an open seating plan this go around will thwart any potential public dick sucking attempts, so he’s not overly concerned with getting caught without Yujin’s support.

Once they’ve reached altitude and the seatbelt lights finally go off, Yujin is the first to take point, adjusting her skirt and checking her teeth for lipstick stains, before sauntering her way down the length of First Class. Seat 1A ignores her calculated stumble next to his seat, scrolling through his phone to play something through the airpods on either side of his head.

Yujin glances back with an exaggerated pout and throat cutting motion to indicate the no go attempt. Hongjoong just grins back, sharp and with an edge Yujin immediately clues into with a discreet thumbs up and a lascivious wink. Now it’s a waiting game and Hongjoong is only too eager to get started.

“So what’s the move?” Yujin whispers to him when she returns from the other end of the cabin, tiny trashbag held at her hip with more than one full barf bag thanks to the sugar sticky children in coach. “He didn’t even blink when I tried to throw my ass in his face.”

“Well I’m not going to do _that_ , obviously.” Hongjoong rolls his tongue over his teeth to feel the catch of the barbell against the inside of his lips. “I kind of just want to pickpocket his wallet and be done with it.”

Yujin gently taps the edge of his shining leather shoes—McQueen, purchased in part with money he’d suckered out of a lonely American on a whim in a hotel parking lot somewhere in southern France. She drops the tied off plastic into a biohazard receptacle. “That’s such a waste though! He looks like he’d have a big dick to go with that fat wallet.”

“Since when are you such a size queen?” Hongjoong laughs, too loud. “I’m probably bigger anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“Ugh,” Yujin groans out, still hushed behind the attendant’s curtain, “I miss the days when you were cute and subby all the time. Where did that Hongjoong go? He was precious and didn’t talk about his dick.”

“ _You_ talk about dick literally every five minutes,” Hongjoong scoffs, ignoring Yujin reaching over to pinch his ass.  Pomade warms between his palms so he can style his recently dyed red hair into an artfully coiffed amalgamation of someone who simultaneously cares and does not care about his appearance. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re ready to offer your ass up on a platter,” Yujin tells him approvingly. “Go get him, tiger.”

Hongjoong winks, grabs the container of hot towels they hadn’t passed around yet and goes to work.

Seat 1A is the third person he offers them to, because he doesn’t want to seem as overeager as he is, and purposefully knocks into the edge of his seat just hard enough that an airpod dislodges and goes rolling underfoot. It’s a move he’s perfected over the last year—how to apply the least amount of force to someone’s chair to get the ball rolling without getting his head snapped off by a pissed off rich dick.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Hongjoong says, husky and whisper soft next to 1A’s ear as he picks up the other half of the airpod pair. “Here you are, sir.”

1A is frowning, but accepts the proffered pod with a grunted, “Whatever, it’s fine.”

 _Gotcha_. Hongjoong smirks.

“Would you like a hot towel, _sir_?” Hongjoong simpers, edges of his mouth curling of their own volition when the guy goes stiff as a board and shakes his head. Hongjoong tuts before leaning down to place his hand just on the edge of 1A’s thigh, barely there pressure so he can disavow himself of any inappropriate touching should this go tits-up. “If there’s anything I can do, _please_ don’t hesitate to ask.”

1A jerks a little underneath Hongjoong’s palm and coughs hard into his fist to cover the involuntary twitch. “That, uh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you all the same.”

“Yes, sir.” Hongjoong leans further into the guy’s space to whisper directly into his ear, “But should anything _come up_ , just call for me, mh?”

Hongjoong can hear it when the guy swallows and enjoys the thrill of triumph zing down to his toes. 1A doesn’t say anything in reply, only crosses his legs and nodding his head once in agreement. Hongjoong pats the sturdy curve of one shoulder just to feel the thick expensive linen fail to crinkle under his fingers. God _damn_ , does YSL make some quality suits.

When he returns to his designated spot, Yujin is almost vibrating from poorly concealed excitement. She beats at his back with her tiny fists, squealing, “Fucking _get it_ , Hongjoong, you fucking genius, I _love_ you.”

Hongjoong catches her hands to place a quick kiss to the center of each palm. “Stop hitting me or I’m never sharing any gory details with you ever again.”

“Teach me your ways, Obi-Wan,” she breathes at him, all dreamy eyed and wondering, “You’re so fucking cool, that dude looked like he was ten seconds away from coming in his pants.”

“Right,” Hongjoong snickers and starts the annoyingly tedious process of heating up pre-packaged foods, labeled by seat and by allergy, for the after movie meal. “How much you want to bet I can get his number before the flight is over?”

Yujin pauses in turning on the electric kettle for hot tea service. “I will write you a check, right now, if you can get him to meet you in the bathroom before lights out.”

“We’ll see,” Hongjoong hip checks the door of the storage closet closed. “He seems like the shy type—it might take me two flights to get his dick down my throat.”

“Boo,” Yujin jeers from the peanut gallery while Hongjoong contemplates the logistics of that big body fitting into the airplane’s cramped bathroom with his own. Maybe 1A is the flexible sort of high strung business exec he can pretzel over the squatted toilet or the shelf style sink.

He doesn’t get to find out, because the Fake Rolex dickhead in economy plus is pressing the call button as if Yujin is his personal maid and Hongjoong takes it upon himself to make the old man as uncomfortable as humanly possible. Which takes up most of the remaining flight and all of his waning energy. Hongjoong unfortunately only gets to tease Rich Boy with the enticing swing of his hips twice before the descent into Tokyo.

1A doesn’t look back when he exits the plane.

It makes Hongjoong pout, disappointed in himself, and also go hot all over from the clear rejection, want surges with the beat of his blood so fast that he can feel it in his _teeth_. Yujin rubs a hand against the small of his back, because she’s sweet, and slips him a ₩10,000 note in his back pocket along with a cheek grab because she’s also a terrible, awful person.

Though, when they do the first walk through for trash and lost and found pick up, sitting in the middle of First Class Seat 1A is a business card. It’s placed perfectly center, couldn’t be confused with falling out of a pocket or that tasty little Hermès number, an open invitation that Hongjoong hesitates for exactly two heart-stopping seconds before shoving it in his breast pocket.

 

**\-------------------**

 

Hongjoong is sitting at the somewhat exclusive airport bar in Narita International, tapping his feet absentmindedly against the metal rungs of his barstool to the tune of some bouncy j-pop, while he contemplates the sleek business card twirling in his fingers. It’s heavy stock, the kind where Hongjoong is pretty sure whoever was in charge of design pulled the order form and just decided to put a tick box next to every single high dollar feature.

Seat 1A is apparently one Jeong Yunho, CEO of a company Hongjoong has never heard of, but whom Google assures him is a multi-billion, _multinational_ corporation with several head offices around the globe. Google also refuses to put any names to the owners and shareholders online, so while Hongjoong is unbelievably aroused for the chance at going down on Big Money Charlie, he’s also fairly certain this is some kind of trap.

A trap designed specifically for Hongjoong and his dirty, bad, no good love affair with financial stability.

He’s so distracted he doesn’t even notice someone else has sat down until a man asks, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Without thinking, without even realizing his mouth is moving, Hongjoong snarks, “Two fingers of Macallan, neat, if you think you can afford it.”

The man next to him laughs, it’s a cute laugh—kind of squeaky like he can’t hold back when he does it. The bartender eyes the man next to him dubiously when he slides a sleek, no limit credit card across the counter. “Make it two.”

Hongjoong hides a smile with a palm propped against his mouth, finally turning to the man beside him. “Jeong Yunho-ssi, I presume.”

“You presume correctly,” Yunho smirks back. He leans in close enough that Hongjoong can just make out the mixture of Gaultier Homme and expensive shaving foam wafting from his neck. His mouth waters. “And you are?”

“Kim Hongjoong.” The bartender slides two glasses with stingy amounts of whiskey swirling at the base. Hongjoong frowns, but the silk smooth taste of finely aged alcohol in his throat is enough to ease his irritation. “How’d you find me?”

“Lucky coincidence,” Yunho laughs, sliding his own drink over when Hongjoong drains the last of his glass. “I was walking by when I saw your bright red head pouting at the bar.”

“I wasn’t pouting,” Hongjoong slurs, whiskey already making him feel warm and dizzy. “I was just trying to come up with a good excuse to call this number.” He flashes the business card under Yunho’s nose. “You think you’re slick.”

“No, I think you just wanted my attention.” Yunho stares at him, at the fingers curled around the edge of the print of his name, and Hongjoong’s breath goes stuttering through his mouth when he says, “You have it.”

“Do I?” Hongjoong sighs into the last sip of 50 year old whiskey and presses his tongue against the rim to show off the domed barbell through his tongue, makes a point to clink it against the glass edge just see Yunho’s eyes go tight around the edges and his nostrils flare on an exhale.

“Yes.” Yunho leans further into his space to grip at his thigh. “You really do.”

 

**\----------------**

 

“I thought you’d be too shy for this,” Hongjoong groans, shoving Yunho harder against the wall as he rips open his supple leather belt—a god awful Moschino from two years ago, worn down at the edges and crumbled in places where the belt loops rest—and pushes Yunho’s underwear out of the way just enough to get at his throbbing cock.

“I bought you almost two million won worth of whiskey on a whim,” Yunho pants down at him, holding his shirt out of the way while Hongjoong tears open a condom he keeps, always prepared like some tawdry version of a boy scout, and slides the slick latex down over the head with his mouth. “I’m pretty sure that makes me anything but _shy_.”

Hongjoong doesn’t answer, too busy rolling his tongue against the underside of Yunho’s dick and letting it rest just on the cusp of too deep in his throat.

There’s something to be said about choking on dick while bruising your knees on hard linoleum in the last stall of some flyover men’s room. Hongjoong isn’t sure what that is, or what it says about himself being so eager to suck down against the condom covered prick twitching in his mouth, but he knows he loves it.

He _loves_ it.

It’s only when Yunho cries out, too loud in a bathroom that has at least twelve people walking by at any given moment, that Hongjoong pops off, places a gentle kiss to the spit slick tip of him.

“No, what, why’d you stop?” Yunho whines at him, the one hand not holding his shirt in a stranglehold runs through Hongjoong’s hair rough.

“Because _you_ can’t be quiet,” Hongjoong rasps back and makes quick work of the uniform ascot tied around his neck. “Put this in your mouth and shut the fuck up.”

Yunho glares at him, ruddy cheeks and dark eyes, but accepts the tie easily enough when Hongjoong finally gets tired of him being a brat and shoves it into his beautiful wet mouth. Which is good, because in the next breath Hongjoong is sucking him down to the root so he can swallow around the fat, flared tip and Yunho outright screams around the silk, thighs tensing hard against abortive little thrusts until Hongjoong gives the okay with a gentle nudges behind his knees.

It’s been a long time since he’s allowed anyone to fuck his face like this, rough and stuttering and mean, but god it’s so good and the feel of designer wool beneath his fingertips makes everything so much better.

Yunho comes with a low moan, drool making its way down his chin in a thin line, with Hongjoong working him through it with his hand. He doesn’t expect to get anything for himself this go around, no doubt Yunho has some important meeting to get to or some egregiously high class sushi dinner to attend.

Except, Yunho pulls him up by his armpits in a display of strength Hongjoong didn’t think he had and jerks him off quick and efficient into the bowl of the toilet while mouthing filthy curses against Hongjoong’s ear.

“Next time, I’m going to suck Glenfiddich off your nipples,” Yunho whispers wet and angry into his neck while his hand whips savagely over his cock. “I’m going to make you beg for caviar and foie gras.”

“Those are overrated and taste like shit,” Hongjoong sobs back, hands gripping at the hair curling at the base of Yunho’s skull, he’s so close he can taste his orgasm on the back of his tongue. “I want wagyu.”

Yunho kisses the mole on his neck. “Done.”

Hongjoong comes over Yunho’s hand, the toilet bowl, and his own shoes.

 

**\--------------**

 

Hongjoong doesn’t call the number.

Or well, he _means_ to call the number, but Yujin is having some kind of existential crisis being back in Japan that he can’t ignore long enough to try and get his dick wet again.

“Wait, are you _still_ crying over your lesbian crush from two years ago?” Hongjoong asks. They’re sitting across from one another at some monster maid cafe Yujin demanded he take her to since he was getting dicked down while she was still in her lonely bachelorette corner.

“Listen.” Yujin slams down her alcoholic drink with unfairly cute foam shaped like a demon cat clinging to the rim. “She was really fucking hot and she has her own record label.” Yujin hiccups, black hair finally let loose from the perpetual bun to fall in pin straight curtains against her shoulders. “She called me cute. No one ever calls me cute!”

“ _I_ call you cute.” Hongjoong laughs, then laughs harder when Yujin screws her face up into an expression of mock outrage.

“You called me babyslut the first week I worked with you!”

“Yujin-ah,” Hongjoong coos and reaches over to tickle his fingers underneath her chin. “They’re not mutually exclusive. You _are_ cute, but you’re also a slut for anything wearing more than two pieces of Gucci.”

Yujin slaps his hand away. “Fuck you, I don’t like you anymore.”

“Liar,” Hongjoong grins and waves over one of the one-eyed monster girls parading around in a super cute lolita skirt. “Another one of the green drinks, please.” The mascot does a shrugging motion, “Oh, uh, midori, kudasai?” Hongjoong tries, pointing at the menu and receives a curtsying thumbs up for his efforts.

Yujin slumps forward against the table watching the monster performers do a choreographed dance to some Kyary Pamyu Pamyu throwback. “Akira is my homosexual idol now, I don’t know what I’d even do if I saw her again.”

“I thought Moonbyul was your homosexual idol?” Hongjoong squints against the glare of too many neon lights surging across the minuscule stage. “Or do you have one for every country we go to. Who is it for London? Kate Middleton?”

Yujin kicks at him underneath the table. “I’m going to pon pon wei wei your fucking ass if you don’t stop making fun of me.”

Hongjoong hooks his feet around her ankles to make her stop. “Yujin, that’s not a threat.”

“ _Ugh_.”

 

**\--------------**

 

Hongjoong _still_ doesn’t call the number, but the universe has decided to reward him with some good karma anyway because Jeong Yunho is on his return flight to Seoul.

The man gives him a wounded puppy look when he goes to board the plane. Hongjoong tries to convey having to put up with an emotional, needy bottom with significant eyebrows in Yujin’s direction but the idea doesn’t seem to come across. Instead he has to pull Yunho aside on the receiving ramp, before coach is allowed to board, to whisper, “I wanted to call but that idiot is going through some kind of bisexual panic.” Hongjoong grins when Yunho finally loses the tense unhappy downturn of his mouth. “I’m like her token gay sponsor, I couldn’t leave her cold and alone in the wild.”

“It’s fine, Hongjoong-ssi.” Yunho smoothes a hand down his front, pausing over the brand new ascot Hongjoong had to purchase from the airline to replace the one Yunho ruined with his saliva. “You can make it up to me later.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Oh?”

“Mmm.” Yunho glances back towards the waiting area, Hongjoong assumes to make sure no one is coming, “You know, I’ve never joined the mile high club.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Hongjoong chokes back, like he’s been sucker punched in the throat.

Yunho gives him one last smile, all teeth, and saunters away with a friendly wave over his shoulder.

 

**\---------------**

 

Turns out, Yunho _is_ one of those flexible high-strung business execs. So flexible, in fact, that Hongjoong actually manages to get his knees almost totally against his ears over the tiny sink of the cramped bathroom stall while leaving sucking marks against the skin and the thin hairs decorating Yunho’s thighs.

“Aw, you look so pretty like this,” Hongjoong whispers against the underside of one leg. “Hold yourself open for me, doll.”

Yunho does and whimpers quietly into his kneecap. Hongjoong had grabbed lube on his way into the stall less than a minute after nodding to give Yunho the go ahead and the slightly medicinal smell of faux-cherries wafts up from the open tube. Hongjoong’s knees are going to hate him for this, are going to scream at him the entire flight back until he can finally go home and soak them in a warm bubble bath, but it’s worth it to hear Yunho suck in a wounded breath at the first touch of his finger and tongue working together against the hot furl of his ass.

“Has anyone ever done this for you before?” Hongjoong has to ask, suddenly curious. It’s not like him to wonder about the history of his sexual partners beyond ‘are you clean’ and ‘how much money do you make’—especially after he stepped on a greasy old man’s dick in a pair of new Louboutins and didn’t even get a replacement pair when the prick got cum all over the swarovski covered tips.

Yunho, shaking from head to toe, nods. “Just once in—in college, my roommate San tried it but,” Hongjoong plunges the tip of his tongue in fast, pulsing motions. “But he didn’t like it so w-we didn’t really hookup again, I’m—oh _god—_ ”

Hongjoong does his best to hold back the smirk when rich boy’s head goes thunking into the metal wall as he flicks his tongue between two lube slicked fingers pumping just shy of too hard.

Yunho tastes like anyone else Hongjoong has been with, really. Like sweat and skin, bitter against his tongue made somewhat more palatable by the cherry flavored lube dripping down his chin. At this angle, his nose presses to the underside of Yunho’s balls—that’s fine, too, because it’s heady and soft and manly, the perfect combination to make Hongjoong’s blood throb in his cheeks.

He makes quick work of the condoms when Yunho is ready and needily grinding against Hongjoong’s face, the slide of his dick into this man’s heat so tight and so good Hongjoong has to stop for a minute and breathe fast through his mouth. “Fuck, you’re really tight.”

“I don’t do this very often,” Yunho hisses back. His face is red, tears blotting at the edge of each eyelash, and he’s cute. He’s so cute Hongjoong just wants to _ruin_ him. So he does, or tries to, hips kicking up in fast unrelenting jerks until Yunho is drooling down his neck and crying into his legs.

“Please, let me come,” Yunho sobs incoherently into Hongjoong’s ear, still barely above a whisper despite his desperation, “Please, _please_ , I’m so close.”

“Promise me—” Hongjoong pulls out to tap the lube slicked tip of his cock against Yunho’s pulsing hole. “Promise me you’ll buy me a Balmain blazer and you can come.”

“I’ll buy you whatever you want, you monster,” Yunho cringes into his knees, still held open with his own hands on either side of them like an obedient puppy. “Please, Hongjoong.”

“Good answer.” Hongjoong tucks himself back in one smooth glide, finally taking mercy on the both of them by whipping his still slicked hand along the angry line of Yunho’s cock until he fills the condom with wave after wave of his release.

Ten minutes later, Yunho does a mortifying walk of shame back to his seat with huge sunglasses on to help conceal his identity while Hongjoong cackles evilly behind the attendant’s curtain, clutching his phone with its new contact information to his chest.

Yujin gives him a high-five and also a check for ₩100,000.

**\----------------**

 

It takes two weeks for Hongjoong to have enough time in his schedule to make an appearance at the high rise of filthy rich penthouses Yunho told him to visit the next they were in the same place at the same time. The woman at the front desk gives him the stink eye, not that Hongjoong blames her, really, since he’s dressed in a red throwaway uniform complete with skirt and tiny hat that Yujin had bought him as a joke six months ago.

“Who are you here to visit?”

“Jeong Yunho.” Hongjoong smiles at her, sweet, and snarkily adds, “I have a delivery.” He doesn’t explicitly say the delivery is dick, but he hopes the slutty red lipstick around his mouth is enough of an indication that he doesn’t have to. God, that would be so fucking hilarious if he rocked up to Yunho’s door with a cheerful ‘Dick delivery!’ falling out of his mouth.

He’s going to do it.

The woman purses her lips tight like a butthole and Hongjoong coughs to cover the snorting laugh that tries to claw out of his throat. “Name?”

“Kim Hongjoong,” he tells her, “He’s expecting me.”

“We’ll see about that,” the woman grunts with a phone against her ear. Kim Eunjung, by her nametag, seems like the kind of angry old curmudgeon that’s seen one too many tasteless sugar babies troop their way through the main lobby in search of higher payouts.

“Yes, hello, Jeong Yunho-ssi,” she simpers formally down the receiver. Hongjoong has to resist the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. “A Kim Hongjoong is in the lobby claiming you’re expecting his arrival?”

She goes quiet after a moment, smug lines around her mouth loosening with poorly contained distaste. “I—ah, I see, yes. Yes, sir, he’ll be up in just a moment.”

On the elevator ride up to the top floor penthouse, after giving Eunjung a jaunty wave despite her paling anger, Hongjoong pulls his phone out to ready his camera and—

“Dick delivery!” He calls out soon as Yunho opens the door, snapping a picture lightning quick of Yunho’s scandalized expression before laughing like a hyena. “Oh my god, your _face_!”

“Jesus, you are something else,” Yunho laughs back, and pulls him out of the doorway to lead him into the shiny metallic silver of his chrome kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

“Can it be you?” Hongjoong coos at him, refusing to be anything other than an unrelenting asshole so Yunho knows exactly what he’s getting into.

“It can later,” Yunho smiles back. “In the meantime, I have bourbon or tequila. Your pick.”

“Tequila.” Hongjoong props himself up on a barstool so he can take in the rest of the apartment. It’s nice—classy. The floors are sparkling marble, the main room is large with a huge flat screen taking up the length of an entire wall, and even from his vantage point at the kitchen nook Hongjoong can see the sparkling skyline of Seoul through the uncovered windows. Hongjoong whistles long and low at all the homegoods he recognizes from his window shopping in Hermès Paris. “Fancy.”

“I try to be,” Yunho grins at him, just a tiny quirk to the side that makes his dimples pop, before sliding in next to him and offering up a glass. “I like your, uh, your outfit.”

“Do you?” Hongjoong slides a foot out of the trashy red pumps he’d put on in the taxi ride over and runs a nylon covered toe up the length of Yunho’s inseam. “I thought you might like it if I kept on brand.”

The tequila burns bright somewhere in the vicinity of his navel, but the bolt of power that rolls down the length of his spine when Yunho groans, pressing his crotch against the heel of Hongjoong's foot, is the most intoxicating rush.

 

**\----------------**

 

The way he finds himself in the almost-not-quite sugar baby scene is kind of sad, really. Hongjoong doesn’t set out to fuck his way into fat wallets, it just sort of happens to him by accident. His first piece of clothing he makes is a circle skirt, like nearly 99% of all fashion majors and DIY-happy stay at home moms, and on a Sunday afternoon he wears it out just for shits and giggles to a local gay bar known for its cross-dressing scene. 

That night he ends up with lipstick smeared down his chin as a man with hairy arms and a thick cock works him over in a bathroom stall, grunting in his ear about how pretty Hongjoong looks in a skirt and how nice he’d be covered in Dior or Gucci or Valentino, and he’d buy it too,  if only Hongjoong would come home with him. Hongjoong doesn’t say anything back, busy as he is choking down around the intrusion against his tonsils, but the man—he never did end up getting a name—pulls away to jerk lines against his cheeks and throws a hefty wad of cash into his lap. “Buy yourself something nice, babydoll.”

He buys food, because he’s poor as fuck and jobless, but the next weekend he shows up at the same bar again with his mouth glossy and a new mini skirt tucked just barely under the curve of his ass. Hongjoong gets attention that night, though not all of it good. It’s a heady sort of realization that he can walk in to a place with confidence and men will fall to his feet offering him a place to stay or to buy him something nice (like a new pair of Louboutins). Most of the time he goes home with whoever smells the best and look like they sit at home collecting paychecks just by existing; plays pretend in their giant apartments on their giant beds covered in soft sheets he can’t dream of affording.

When he gets his job at the airline, it’s like a whole new world opens up before him filled with even seedier businessmen ready to throw bank notes at him for bare minimum effort as long as he keeps his mouth shut. And Hongjoong keeps his mouth shut for _money_. Though the airline pay is fucking fantastic all by itself, he gets his first deposit and immediately shuffles everything into a new apartment with a better view and a nicer zipcode.

The first one to ask him to wear heels and step on his dick pays him with a check that clears after a single day and a jumbo classic flap from Chanel. The second gives him perfume from Dior and the French equivalent of ₩1,000,000. A never ending wave of men with too much money and no one to spend it on falls into his lap as if by magic. It’s wonderful. It’s _everything_. Love ‘em and leave ‘em with an empty purse turns into his life motto.

But he runs into his fair share of mean spirited dickheads that just want to take out their stress on a willing body. Hongjoong gets manhandled and ridden into cheap hotel mattresses when all he wants to do is go home to a hot bath, and jack off over skype for a guy somewhere in Europe for bitcoin. He puts up with his legs bent into his ears, bored by it, just because he knows he has a chance to pay rent with someone else’s money instead of his own.

Yunho, by some strange miracle, is different than the rest. For one, Yunho is actually _nice_ to him, unlike the vast majority of his peers, and constantly asks, “Is this okay? Are you alright?” while Hongjoong has his pantyhose pulled to one side, red skirt a ripped mess over his thighs, living his best life riding Yunho’s dick.

“It’s fine,” Hongjoong tells him, drooling a little, “Everything is fine, just fucking _touch_ me, jesus.”

For two, he treats Hongjoong like he’s something precious instead of a tight hole he can stick his dick in and be done with it. Cleans him up afterward with a soft linen cloth — Burberry, their 2016 home collection—and finds him a pair of soft Nike sweats so Hongjoong has something to wear on his way home. Yunho is so _nice_ about _everything_ it makes him want to cry.

Hongjoong is going to miss him when this is over.

 

**\----------------**

 

Later, Yunho kisses him goodbye at the door. Rubs his tongue over the seam of Hongjoong’s mouth until he opens up to let the wet slip of it roll over his teeth. Hongjoong isn’t sure how to take it, since he wasn’t here for slow farewells against an elevator wall or a sweet kiss to go home and panic starts to jitter in his fingertips.

But Yunho also presses a gift bag from Chanel into his palms on his way out and that’s—that’s better.

That’s _safe_.

**\----------------**

 

Park Seonghwa and Kang Yeosang are a couple Hongjoong met in college, before they were married, and are just about the only good things Hongjoong has kept around since deciding to take on his Flight Attendant job.

Yeosang was the first, someone Hongjoong met while he was still struggling to make a name for himself as a possible fashion designer (he never did) and also put food on the table. He’d taken him home to meet Seonghwa—a tall drink of water Hongjoong desperately wanted to drape in his own brand somewhere down the line just to see his name plastered down the front of his mile long legs. Seonghwa had taken one look at him, took him into their home and into his heart where only Yeosang had taken up space.

Hongjoong remembers falling to his knees while Seonghwa fed him gourmet grapes, and staying there on the floor until Seonghwa also fed him his dick, the head of it soft and wet and tangy against his tongue while Yeosang held a palm to his throat to keep him centered and open.

They loved him. They _still_ love him, even though Hongjoong has the emotional range of a dying cactus, and always welcome him into their enormous luxury penthouse any time he’s in town long enough to do anything. It’s a revolving open-door policy Hongjoong takes too much advantage of and he knows it.

He’s like the human embodiment of a bad penny.

“I want to swim in a pool of money like Scrooge McDuck,” Hongjoong sighs, eyes closed and head tilted in the glitzy bathtub against Seonghwa’s thighs while his hyung cards his fingers over his scalp to work shampoo into a rich lather. “I wanna suck dick while being showered with Benjamins.”

“We could make that happen, you know,” Seonghwa murmurs, placing a tender kiss to the fan of eyelashes against Hongjoong’s cheek. “Yeosang has connections at the bank. We could get some uncirculated bills and try it out.”

“Mmm,” Hongjoong hums back. It seems easy, so, so easy then to turn his head to nudge his nose into the collection of thin hairs prickling on Seonghwa’s thighs; mostly to feel the muscles jump under his mouth as his hyung tenses and bails water over his head to rid Hongjoong of some of the suds. “Think Yeosang would be mad if we started without him?”

“Doubtful,” Seonghwa husks, reaching down to flick the barbell in Hongjoong’s left nipple until he cries out, disgustingly grateful for the hurt, and wriggles away from his hyung’s fingers. Seonghwa isn’t hard yet, barely filling when Hongjoong sucks him into his mouth just for the weight against his tongue than the actual pleasure of sucking dick, but he rolls the ball through his tongue over the head, mean, while Seonghwa makes punch drunk noises above him and finishes rinsing out the shampoo before it can drip into Hongjoong’s eyes.

Seonghwa is finally hard and throbbing against his tongue when he pulls away to smile up at him, the tip resting against his bottom lip so he can lick at the bead of precum blurting against his mouth. “I love you, hyung.”

Seonghwa laughs at him, dry and a little pissed. “You don’t love anyone but yourself, you little fuck.” He grabs Hongjoong’s chin, rough and so good Hongjoong breathes a moan against the jerking tip of Seonghwa’s cock. “But it’s okay,” Seonghwa forces Hongjoong’s mouth open to feed his dick in slowly, slowly, slowly, so the water in the oversized tub doesn’t slosh over the sides. “We can play pretend if that’s what you want.”

If there’s one thing Hongjoong will never get tired of, it’s the easy ownership Seonghwa takes of him when his hyung knows Hongjoong needs to be fucked out of his own head. How Seonghwa will turn to him and say, “Get on your knees, that’s an order,” and Hongjoong doesn’t have to think twice before he’s slamming down in the middle of the living room or against the tiles of the shower or over Yeosang’s cock held straight by Seonghwa’s hand.

Seonghwa’s dick throbs in the back of his throat. Hongjoong gags on it, chokes until Seonghwa backs away to let him breathe for only a second, before slamming his way back in like an asshole.

Yeosang comes home some nebulous amount of time later to find Hongjoong laid open and bare, spread out on the silk in the middle of his marital bed with Seonghwa’s fingers in his mouth, gently rocking into the needy clench of him just this side of too much for Hongjoong to handle.

“I see you two started without me,” Yeosang says mildly, unconcerned as always. Hongjoong can’t say anything from the fingers in his mouth, eyes rolling in his head from the press of skin to his tongue. “I bought you a gift.”

“Do you think he deserves it?” Seonghwa laughs, pulling out and away while Hongjoong sobs from the sudden ache of being empty.  

“Probably not, but I bought it anyway.” Yeosang smiles up at Seonghwa, love in his eyes as always, and pecks him on the mouth just once but sweet. “Get me out of these pants and I’ll help you with him.”

Seonghwa slides back in just as Hongjoong’s lungs are getting it together while Yeosang upends a bag from Bordelle over his chest and arranges the lacy thongs over his middle. Seonghwa fucks him hard and unrelenting while Yeosang curls his tongue against the piercing in Hongjoong’s cock until he comes in his mouth, designer lingerie spread over Hongjoong’s nipples and high dollar receipt crumbled in his hand.

Hongjoong is still shivery with aftershocks watching Yeosang riding his husband into filthy oblivion next to him, Seonghwa’s fingers clutched tight in Hongjoong’s grip, and he wishes, wishes, _wishes_ he could love them.

Yeosang lights a candle, later, some bougie shit he bought at a Tom Ford counter in L.A. and the three of them cuddle together with lapfuls of reheated lo mein watching trashy tv on the television in their bedroom.

“So how’s work going?” Seonghwa asks him over a wine break. “How’s Yujin?”

“Yujin is Yujin,” Hongjoong laughs because, really, there’s no way to accurately describe the woman’s active distaste for everything male while simultaneously lusting over every single old man in a finely tailored suit. “And work is the fucking worst, but I at least get paid.”

“You know you can quit anytime and we’d support you,” Yeosang yawns into his lap, sleepy from his own hectic day in the office and the wine sitting heavily in his gut. “There’s always room for you to move in.”

“I know,” Hongjoong smiles at him, heart warmed from the offer, “But you know I can’t stand not having a steady paycheck. I’d run away after a week.”

Seonghwa knocks their foreheads together. “Well, if it ever gets too much…”

Hongjoong quiets the rest of the sentence with his mouth, before the panic can take over, while Yeosang snores against his stomach.

 

**\----------------**

 

A month later, after a hellacious two week stint back and forth from London to Incheon, Hongjoong has Yunho spread out in his custom sized bed with his limbs anchored to each post by leather and metal cuffs and he whispers the same confession about his money dream (“I just want to swim around in it until my pockets are full.”) into Yunho’s chest, only when he thinks the man is too far gone to hear it. The ball gag in Yunho's mouth makes it impossible to say anything anyway, so Hongjoong thinks he’s safe, and clenches around the dick buried in his ass.

Hongjoong coos when tears start making their way down Yunho’s cheeks and the drool slides dripping down his chin. “I’m almost done and then you can come, I promise,” he fucks down hard while Yunho screams, cock jerking as his orgasm is denied for the third time in an hour by the ring in a vice grip around his base, “I’m so close, baby.”

The sound of Yunho’s arms struggling against the leather and the metal clinking together sends arousal pulsing urgently in his groin, “Fuck,” Hongjoong comes hard, eyes rolling in his head with a long drawn out whimper of Yunho’s name falling from his mouth. 

Yunho is a crying, shivery mess by the time Hongjoong is calm enough to lift himself off and remove the cock ring, tucking Yunho back into his hole just to feel the filthy wash of cum painting his insides like ownership.

Like, for just a minute, Yunho belongs to Hongjoong and Hongjoong alone—his bed, his apartment, his luxury cars, and his bank account.

When it’s over, Yunho’s arms are wrapped tight around Hongjoong’s middle as he gives them a rub down to ease the strain of his muscles. Yunho is still trembling with aftershocks curled into Hongjoong’s lap, mouth gaped open and raw from the ball gag. He looks so good like this, all subspace and no boardroom dominance. “What’s your color, baby boy?”

“Green,” Yunho mumbles, snuggled tight against his stomach. “So green, jus’ tired.”

“Mmm.” Hongjoong dips down to kiss his mouth, mean—just shy of too hard, just to hear Yunho cry a little from the pressure on his aching, stretched skin. “I’m going to get dressed and order takeout. Preference?"

“Barbecue pig feet,” Yunho yawns, barely teetering on the cliff of sleep. “There’s numbers programmed into the phone by the door. Just call down to the front desk and they’ll take care of it.”

Oh boy, is Eunjung going to love that phone call. Hongjoong internally snickers at forcing the old bag to call him sir and place their garbage college kid food order.

“Alright.” He presses another kiss to Yunho’s mouth, gentle this time so he sighs into it instead of crying. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when it gets here.”

“‘Kay.” Yunho blinks out of sync and drops into dreamland almost instantaneously. 

They eat on Yunho’s overstuffed couch, once the front desk sends up the delivery boy loaded down with six different types of dishes, and get crumbs and drip sauce absolutely everywhere. Yunho makes a mess of his mouth and his fingers while Hongjoong laughs at the smudge of dark hoisin staining his shirt.

Yunho drapes long lines of Chanel pearls around his neck with a kiss to Hongjoong’s ear on his way out.

 

**\----------------**

 

With his and Yunho’s schedules, they don’t get to meet up as often as Hongjoong and his sex drive would like. However, when they _do_ manage to grab some time together, it’s a whirlwind of intense, needy fucking or something slow and relentless that mostly ends with Hongjoong buried to the hilt while Yunho cries from being edged too many times, for way too long.

This latest meetup, on the tail end of Yunho’s trip to Saudi Arabia and Hongjoong’s continuous boring flights to JFK and London, ends with Hongjoong lounging pleasantly buzzed and sticky all over. Yunho makes it his business to suck bruises into the meat of his thigh, more to leave his teeth there to mark his place,  and licks the cum from Hongjoong’s abdomen like a good boy.

“We should go to the Maison Margiela popup downtown,” Hongjoong sighs, thighs twitching sporadically when Yunho starts working his tongue in slow circles around his navel. “There’s a sweater I want, I—ugh, _fuck_.”

“Later,” Yunho mutters, eyes dark and eyelashes darker against his skin, before he goes back to licking his tongue in slow sweeps over the abused rim of Hongjoong’s hole until he’s a weeping mess. Hongjoong gets rolled over to his front so Yunho can fuck him hard against the silk sheets, hand to the back of his neck so Hongjoong can do nothing but take it until he’s coming dry and blacking out.

They spend the come down with Yunho rubbing slow circles into Hongjoong’s stomach while lube and cum drip down from his ass to the absolute ruin of bedsheets. “Did they hurt?”

Hongjoong yawns, “What?”

Yunho flicks a nail over the metal in Hongjoong’s nipples. “Your piercings. Did they hurt.”

Hongjoong stares at the ceiling while running a clean hand through Yunho’s fringe. “I mean, one was literally a needle through my dick, so that was an interesting time of my life,” Hongjoong supposes. “But, overall no, not really. Healing was the worst part.” Yunho hums, still thumbing gently back and forth over the barbells in Hongjoong’s chest. Hongjoong pokes his cheek. “You should get a piercing.”

“Why?”

“Because you’d look hot.” Hongjoong brushes a kiss against Yunho’s still wet mouth. “Right here, right in the middle. Or snakebites like the emo boy you are on the inside.”

Yunho glares at him. “Promise to never say that again and I’ll buy you one of everything in that popup.”

Hongjoong mimes zipping his lips while his shoulders shake with laughter.

 

**\----------------**

 

It’s Saturday—Sunday? Morning?—some obfuscated time of night that doesn’t feel real anymore, and Hongjoong is _bombed_ on gloriously strong, exceptionally smooth bourbon mixed with red bull watching shitty nighttime talk shows featuring hosts that look just about as dead on the outside as Hongjoong feels on a daily basis. He’s lounging around in some trashy Bordelle getup complete with pleated skirt Yeosang bought him for Christmas their first year together, suspiciously stained at the back where Hongjoong could never quite get the lube out in time, and he feels pretty. And horny.

Talk shows lead into a rerun of some drama he missed while covering for a coworker’s stint in the hospital and—Oh!—Lee Minho is being an aggressive dickhead on screen.

If anyone was here, he’d be falling all over himself to suck dick to the cadence of that man’s voice, but as it stands he can only huff aggravated breaths into a pillow clutched to his front and downs another glass—straight bourbon this time now that his taste buds have given up trying to warn him to stop.

At some point he finds his phone, hidden from himself _by_ himself because Hongjoong knows how much of a needy whore he can be when he drinks alone. Yunho answers his face time on the third ring, hair a fluffed wreck and creases from his pillow visible along one cheek, “Hyung? Hongjoong, what—”

“Yunho,” he moans, drools really, rocking into the pillow clutched against his front. “Yunho-yaaaah, you’re so hot.”

Yunho curses on the line. Hongjoong smirks. He can’t really see the screen very well thanks to the bourbon making his vision swim and his limbs are starting to feel floaty and far away. Hongjoong can almost make out the sound of pants being pulled on and moans, high pitched. “Yunho, talk to me.”

“What do you want to hear?” Yunho rasps back. His voice is throaty from sleep and so good Hongjoong gasps, rocks harder against the cotton.

“Want you to tell me I’m pretty,” Hongjoong indulges in trying to rile him up, “Tell me I can come.”

“No,” Yunho bites out, and Hongjoong sucks in a wounded, razor thin breath between his teeth. “I’m leaving now and driving to you.” Hongjoong sobs, his dick throbbing hard between his tensing thighs. “Come before I get there and I won’t let you fuck me for two months.”

“No!” Hongjoong wails to the tune of Yunho telling him ‘goodbye’ with a smug upturn of his mouth, familiar beeping of the elevator behind him, before throwing his phone to the floor to curl protectively around his cock. It hurts, it hurts, and it’s going to take Yunho an agonizing fifteen minutes to get to his place.

The wait is worth it though, oh god is it worth it, because Yunho doesn’t even bother for the door to be shut properly before dropping to his knees, flipping up the hem of Hongjoong’s skirt, and sucking him down and down until Hongjoong is fucking his face in the entryway.

Hongjoong quakes when he comes, fingers digging deep into the roots of Yunho’s hair, and sobbing from the feel of his muscles clenching around the flared head of his dick on deep swallows. He should probably reciprocate, but between the bone deep exhaustion from the orgasm and the bourbon finally working it’s magic, Hongjoong passes out.

He wakes up hungover the next day to breakfast waiting for him in bed and almost throws up—not from the alcohol, even though he should and might feel better after.  Yunho is sleep soft, clad in whatever sweatpants he’d tugged on the previous night, and an atrocious cook if the smell of burnt toast is anything to go by.

Hongjoong breathes in, breathes out, and waves a fond farewell to his days of emotional detachment.

Across from the bed, holding a tray of what could be considered food if you squint, Yunho smiles bashfully at him with his bruised red mouth.

Hongjoong stares at him, helpless, and thinks:

_Fuck._

**\----------------**

 

Yunho has a work function he invites Hongjoong to as his plus one on a weekend when Korean Air is giving him some blessed time off. It’s some greasy yes man event for low level suck ups to try and weasel their way into a corner office under the thinly veiled premise of a charity function taking place in a hotel lobby with an _excellent_ open bar. The champagne is strong and goes straight to Hongjoong’s head.

Hongjoong is propped against the edge of it making small talk with the bartender, Yunho busying himself with waving off corporate leeches with his calm, cool, collected mask of indifference in place, when an old man with greying eyebrows and wearing too much cologne droops against his side.

“Let me buy you for the night,” is husked into the shell of Hongjoong’s ear and he grimaces at the smell of vodka wafting across his nose.

“I don’t think you could afford me,” Hongjoong coos back, trying to shift away from all the odors drifting out of one man. It kind of makes him want to gag. The smells remind him, bizarrely, of a nightclub he’d gone to as a sophomore in college where he’d gotten his first taste of the delicious ache of bruised knees and an equally bruised mouth in the seedy underbelly of the men’s bathroom floor.

It’s not a memory he likes to return to often.

The man is relentless in his pursuit, though, until Hongjoong finally catches Yunho’s eyes from across the room and he breaks away from feigning interest in purchasing stock to save Hongjoong from this nightmare creature. He slides against Hongjoong’s other side, right up against his back, and places a palm over the curve of his hip like it’s permanently stitched there.

“Can I help you, Youngchul-ssi?” Yunho asks, voice cold and growly in the best way.

“O-oh, Jeong Yunho-ssi, sir, I’m sorry,” the man falls all over himself, almost literally thanks to the liberal amounts of vodka swimming in his capillaries. “I didn’t realize—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Yunho sneers. Hongjoong feels his nipples tighten beneath his shirt, fuck, because this Yunho—the one who’s mean and calculated and a keen businessman—gets Hongjoong so hot and bothered he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Perhaps I should rethink that investment in, what was it, your daughter’s line of handcrafted perfumes?”

“N-no, sir, that won’t be necessary.” Youngchul bows deep, poorly attached toupee flopping over to expose his bald spot. “You have a lovely evening with your—,” he coughs, flustered, “Have a lovely evening.” And runs away.

Hongjoong watches the old bastard waddle off and laughs brightly into Yunho’s arm. “Goddamn, dude, that was brutal.”

“He deserved it, I don’t like to share what’s mine,” Yunho grits out. “And don’t call me dude.”

Apparently, that was the last interaction Yunho was willing to have that night, since he grabs the curve of Hongjoong’s elbow to lead him out of the tacky hotel lobby and into the cold, cement parking garage. Hongjoong doesn’t say anything until they’re standing in front of the deep navy Maserati quadruple parked in the middle of a sea of black sedans. “Am I?”

Yunho curses when he fumbles with the keys. “Are you what?”

“Yours.”

Yunho stares down at him, still pissed, and Hongjoong goes hot all over. He opens up the door to the backseat and gestures one arm with a sweeping motion. “Get in.”

“Why?” Hongjoong tests, just to be a smartass, because he still kind of wants an answer.

“You know why,” Yunho scowls before shoving a hand to the center of Hongjoong’s chest.

Hongjoong goes, of course he does, because he loves this car like it’s his own, and his dick is so hard in his slacks the seam is creaking. “Are you _jealous_?”

Yunho glares at him, hot and dark, and Hongjoong has only a moment to think, _oh he actually is_ , before Yunho rubs his thumb over the shine of his lipstick pink mouth—Charlotte Tilbury’s pillow talk tonight, which Hongjoong laughed at in front of the beauty counter before slapping down his credit card to purchase.

“Where’d you hide the lube this time,” Yunho growls, slamming the door behind himself and unzipping the pants of his custom Versace suit.

“Front pocket,” Hongjoong gasps while Yunho makes quick work stripping him out of his formal attire until he’s completely bare, dick drooling against the soft leather seating. Yunho works two perfunctory lubed fingers into his hole before fucking the head of his dick in rough, angry bursts, still clothed but for the opening in his pants. Yunho fucks him hard with no time to recover from the almost pain of being speared on his dick too fast and the skin slapping harsh against the back of his thighs. This right here, this greedy ownership of his body by someone else, the rough desperate fucking in the backseat of a car he doesn't own—couldn't dream of owning in his lifetime on his salary—this is what Hongjoong has been missing. Familiar. It's like finally dipping a toe into a warm bath at the end of a hard day and Hongjoong falls into the angry push-pull like a deadweight.

Hongjoong feels disgustingly wet, and open, from how naked he is with his hands slipping for purchase against the windows when he groans out, “Someone might see.”

“As if you wouldn’t absolutely love that.” Yunho slaps his ass, hard, leaves a mark the size of his palm and soothes the hurt away with a tender caress. When Hongjoong knees shake, and he collapses face down, the new angle is so fucking good he has to bite his arm to keep the scream from echoing out into the mostly vacant parking garage.

Hongjoong spills all over his hand when he tries to keep the cum from staining the seat, lipstick smeared clear to his cheek and over his arm from muffling his noises. Yunho doesn’t last much longer, but he pulls out to jerk against Hongjoong’s spasming hole, marking him up on the outside in some kind of display of possession Hongjoong can’t find the heart to get mad at.

Yunho wipes a thumb over his rim, aching and still throbbing, pushes in the tip covered in hot cum with a guttural, “Too much?”

“Just right,” Hongjoong sighs. He feels slutty and disposable in the _best_ way, satisfaction soaking down into his bones until his limbs go useless.

Yunho places kisses on every prominent knob of his spine, finally losing the hard angry edge. “Clean yourself up and I’ll take you to whatever store you want.”  
  
Hongjoong breathes heavily, sucks air against the sticky leather, stumbles out, “W-wanna go to Balmain.”

“Alright.” Yunho places a kiss to his neck. “Still lusting after that blazer?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong sighs thick, shivering and shaking still from the aftershocks snaking their lightning quick pulses down through his veins. Yunho takes mercy on him by digging around for a box of soft tissue to rub gently, whisper soft around his opening to clean up the filthy mess of his ass.

“I’ll buy you two.”

Hongjoong moans again, gripping tight to his cock to stop himself from coming a second time.

 

**\------------------**

 

Two weeks later, Hongjoong finds himself on another three day rotation with Yujin, who has been going nuts blowing up his phone ever since he sent her a snap of the _three_ Balmain blazers laid across his bed.

She waits until after they’ve reached altitude and finished the First Class service cart to nudge him with her elbow. “How are things going with your rich boy?”

Hongjoong bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, knows that if Yujin sees it she’ll be all over him like a shark who smells blood in the water. “Pretty well actually,” He gives up trying to force down the tide of warm fuzzies swirling in his gut and smiles down at the water carafe heating up. “He’s, ah, he’s really nice.”

Yujin gapes at him, incredulous and open mouthed like a fish. “He’s nice?”

Fuck. Shit. Wrong word choice.

Hongjoong swallows against the sudden lump of emotion in his throat. “Yes?”

“That’s it? Just, ‘Oh, Yujin, he’s _nice_ ’ instead of ‘Oh, Yujin, I can step on his penis for three grand and a thank you kissed to my feet’.”

“I,” Hongjoong stops, heart going erratic in his chest. Is that what comes out of his mouth? Jesus christ, he really needs to learn to grow a filter. “Um.”

“Oh my god!” Yujin squeals and starts bouncing on the tips of her toes while gripping the light blue of his work blazer between her fingers. “You actually caught feelings for your sugar daddy!”

“Yujin! Yah, shut the fuck up,” Hongjoong hisses in panic, glancing down the aisle of curious tourists and bored businessmen giving them the nasty side eye. “He’s not my damn sugar daddy.”

“He’s basically your sugar daddy, don’t kid yourself, my love,” she cackles at him, because again, Yujin is a terrible, awful, no good person and Hongjoong loves her to bits. “This is cute though! I didn't think I'd ever see the day you’d have an _actual_ emotion for something, or someone, that doesn’t have a price tag attached.” She hugs him around the waist, sweet. “I'm proud of you, Hongjoong-ah."

“Please stop,” he whispers back, throat thick with repressed shame. “He’s going to drop me the second I say anything about it.”

Yujin lays her head on his shoulder, quiet, and sways them together with the slow rocking of the plane until the beep signalling the water is boiling. Hongjoong squeezes her hand before he has to troop down to pass out drinks; Yujin squeezes back.

 

**\------------------**

 

Yunho is on a long trip for some shareholder meeting out of the country, but he makes a point to send pictures of cute things he finds on his walks around the French countryside. There are a lot of cats that come with names like escargot or baguette or Eiffel Tower, because Yunho is terrible when it comes to naming things. Hongjoong smiles at each and every one, heart overfull that someone cares enough to check in with him without the prospect of dirty talk or to jerk off on camera for them.

In return, Hongjoong sends pictures of new Cartier rings on his fingers and the Chanel earrings he picked up in London. Yunho reacts with a simple thumbs up emoji.

Just for fun, just to see his reaction, Hongjoong sends a picture of himself blowing a kiss to the camera and Yunho doesn’t answer for hours. Realistically, he knows the delay is more than likely a result of business meetings running long or Yunho being in the middle of some important boardroom shakedown, but the waiting is dragging him down into a spiral of self doubt and self hatred.

Until Yunho finally texts him back and it’s just a long line of hearts and pink flowers and obnoxious sparkling stickers and—  
  
 _Alright._ Hongjoong laughs as the waves of messages pour through. _Alright._

 

**\-----------------**

 

Everyone on board the London connection he’s currently working can honestly go fuck a rake. Yujin isn’t with him on this rotation, which isn’t a surprise considering the way scheduling works out sometimes, but his only other coworker is some newly graduated greenhorn who passes off every single problem seat to Hongjoong so he can play some fuckshit stupid game on his phone.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to please adjust your seat to its upright position, we are about to make our descent into London,” Hongjoong sighs at an older woman for the fifth time in as many minutes.

She snaps her fingers in his face for his trouble. “I’m trying to sleep, go away.”

“Ma’am,” Hongjoong speaks through clenched teeth. “For your safety and the safety of those around you, I’m going to ask you one more time to adjust your seat or I will do it for you.”

He _actually_ has to pull the lever under her seat to make her cooperate, and it turns into a screaming fit so vitriolic that even the Sky Marshal decides to make his presence known. The screaming turns into racial epithets and Hongjoong is done, he is fucking done with this flight and this rotation and Choi Seungmin with his stupid gatcha game.

Before the seatbelt light comes on, just ten minutes shy of the last circling descent into the runway below, a man Hongjoong recognizes as one of his brief flings shoves his way into his personal bubble.

“Kim Hongjoong,” the man, Marcus, breathes the scent of stale beer and poor life choices down Hongjoong’s neck against the door of the small bathroom. The reason he dropped Marcus, and really the reason Hongjoong has dropped every other man who’s come into his life, was because the Londoner was the worst kind of sadist and didn’t even have a top floor apartment, even less in the way of luxury bedding. “It’s been a while. What say you and me make a reconnection?”

“What say we don’t,” Hongjoong cringes. Marcus has him caged on either side with his hairy muscular arms. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask that you return to your seat.”

“Baby,” Marcus coos, reaching out a palm to slide down the length of Hongjoong’s waist like he’s trying to stake a claim there. “Don’t be like that. Didn’t you miss me?”

“Not even a little,” Hongjoong denies. When Marcus doesn’t take the fucking hint to leave him alone, Hongjoong takes the initiative to knee him in the balls and stomps his way back to the attendant’s area.

 

**\------------------**

 

Yunho greets him at the door with wide open arms and a mug of cheap, irresistibly delicious hot cocoa in his hands.

“I’m sorry for calling you so late,” Hongjoong mumbles into the gap of his collarbones. “There was this asshole on the flight and I just—” Hongjoong hiccups while Yunho slides warm, comforting palms over the dips of his spine. “I don’t know. I just wanted to see you.”

“It’s fine, hyung, you don’t need an excuse to see me,” Yunho whispers tugging him to sit down in his lap on the plush sofa. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Oh.

No one has ever offered themselves up like this without Hongjoong having to explicitly ask for it—demand it from them by force. Tears blur across his vision and the room swims. Hongjoong tries to blink them away before Yunho can notice, but one errant tear rolls down his cheek to drip off the point of his chin. “Ah.”

Yunho coos, thumbs away the liquid. “You should take a break, hyung, you’re running yourself ragged.”

“Gotta support my lavish lifestyle somehow,” Hongjoong mutters, snuggling down to nudge his nose underneath Yunho’s chin that’s gritty with day old stubble.

Yunho snorts, jostling Hongjoong with the bounce of his knees until Hongjoong gives in and laughs. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you _do_ have me for that.”

“I noticed, but I like having myself do it more.” Hongjoong yawns and places a kiss to Yunho’s jaw. “What would I even do with a break besides fuck you every day?”

Yunho hums while Hongjoong slides his teeth against his neck. “We could go somewhere.”

“Somewhere like?” Hongjoong presses, leaning his head on Yunho’s shoulder to better gaze up at him.

“I don’t know,” Yunho shrugs. “Ever been to Disney?”

“I’ve been to the one in Japan a few times when we’ve had time.”

“That one doesn’t count, it’s not even technically an official park,” Yunho sniffs at him, offended. Hongjoong laughs into his neck and feels it against the top of his head when Yunho smiles. “Let’s go to the one in Florida. I can get us into Cinderella’s Castle.”

“Thought that was invitation only?”

“Please,” Yunho rolls his eyes. “This is me we’re talking about.”

Hongjoong goes quiet, pursing his lips in consideration while he plays with the edge of one of Yunho’s nails wrapped around his middle. “When.”

“When, what?”

Hongjoong huffs and kicks a foot. “When would we go?”

“Give me a few days to work out the logistics but would probably only take me a week or two, if you wanted. Whenever.” Yunho removes the cooling cup of cocoa from Hongjoong’s slack grip. “Before all that, though, I have a surprise for you.”

“What kind of surprise?” Hongjoong asks as he lets himself be lifted up from the couch, sighing at the display of strength when Yunho walks with him cradled to his chest into the bedroom. His _[redacted]_ drops him unceremoniously onto the crumpled sheets and brings out a bag that looks stuffed full with...something. Clothing maybe?

“Remember what you told me not too long ago about Scrooge McDuck?” Yunho grins, sharp, and upends the bag to let a tidal wave of ₩50,000 notes rain down on Hongjoong’s chest. “All new, uncirculated bills. You can’t swim in them, but you could probably make a money angel on the bed if you really wanted.”

Hongjoong’s nipples go tight around the metal barbells. “Oh _Yunho_ ,” Hongjoong gasps heatedly, excitement making his blood throb in his ears, knows he’s going red down to his navel from the rush. “You shouldn’t have.”

Yunho gives him a smug smile. “No.” He starts tugging the sweatpants off Hongjoong’s legs and works the shirt from Hongjoong’s back. “I think I really should.”

Yunho’s eyes go dark and hungry as Hongjoong gets hard embarrassingly quick in the Bordelle thong he’d put on as a lark before he left his apartment.

Yunho ends up riding him while rubbing bills over the peaks of Hongjoong's nipples, over the heaving line of his chest, and shoves the monetary equivalent of a Birkin in Hongjoong’s mouth until Yunho comes over his stomach and Hongjoong paints the inside of his thighs.

For fun, because it’s them, Hongjoong actually _does_ spread his arms and legs out to make a money angel on the come down, more to make Yunho laugh than anything else. After a shower where Hongjoong can’t stop himself from fingering Yunho open again until he nearly falls from the overstimulation, they snuggle down into Yunho’s giant bed spooned together.

“I have another gift for you,” Yunho tells him sometime later, whispered into his nape so he can place a nervous kiss to the mole on Hongjoong’s neck. “Only if you want it.”

Hongjoong yawns. “What is it?”

“A key.” Yunho traces a palm over the shape of Hongjoong’s shoulder. “For this place. In case you need to get away and I’m not here to let you in.” Hongjoong goes silent, air stalling in his lungs before surging out of him in a tinny affected wheeze. “Only if you want it, hyung.”

The hand on his shoulder is trembling gently, barely noticeable against Hongjoong’s own fine tremors, but he reaches out to lace their fingers and press them tight against his chest. “I think I have room on my keychain.” Yunho breathes hard against his back and relaxes into him. “Let’s go to Disney. I’ll put in a vacation request tomorrow.”

Yunho places another tender kiss to the top knob of his spine. He sounds on the verge of tears when he finally whispers back, “I'll make the arrangements.”

 

**\------------------**

 

Hongjoong fidgets in his seat at the dining table. Seonghwa is staring at him as if Hongjoong has grown another head—maybe one that’s green and speaking the gibberish of some long dead language.

“Hold on, hold on,” Seonghwa raises a palm in the air while rubbing the other against his forehead. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to Disney World. In America. With some rich fuck you met six months ago,” Seonghwa deadpans, plate in front of him piled high with rapidly cooling pancakes.

Hongjoong coughs. “That’s about the jist of it, yeah.”

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa whispers, utensils clattering against the porcelain to yell, “Oh my god, Yeosang! Yeosang, baby, get the fuck in here!”

Hongjoong winces. Yeosang comes speeding into the room with his hair in disarray and only one arm shoved into the crisp button down of his work uniform. “What? What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

Seonghwa is clutching dramatically to the edge of their walnut table. “Yeosang, yeobo, Hongjoong is leaving us!”

“Okay?” Yeosang glances between them while Hongjoong burns bright red. “He is allowed to do that, hyung.”

“No, no, no, I meant,” Seonghwa presses his hand to his chest as if he’s having a minor heart attack. Hongjoong rolls his eyes heavenward. Theater majors. “He’s leaving us for good to live out the rest of his days as the trophy wife of some expensive dandy he met in First Class.”

“Dear god,” Hongjoong moans into his palms, “Please don’t call Yunho a dandy. He’s such a fucking goober.”

“And he’s using the guy’s name!” Seonghwa yells. “Yeosang, come over here and catch me before I fall.”

“You’re not going to fall, hyung, quit being so dramatic.” Yeosang laughs while Seonghwa makes a noise akin to the sound of a car crash. “Is this true, Hongjoong-hyung?”

“I mean,” Hongjoong mumbles, ducking his head down to rest it against the cool grain of the wood. “Kinda, yeah.”

“He has a key,” Seonghwa hisses, “To this guy’s apartment. They’re basically cohabitating!”

“Oh!” Yeosang rubs at Hongjoong’s shoulder. “That’s great, hyung. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Hongjoong says tersely. “Please control your husband before I smack him.”

“He’d like that too much, it’s not a punishment,” Yeosang laughs while Seonghwa makes dramatic noises, actually getting up to slam around in the kitchen to get rid of his ecstatic energy. At least, that’s what Hongjoong hopes he’s doing. “We should go out and celebrate tonight.”

Seonghwa goes still in the kitchen, noise ceasing so suddenly even Yeosang is giving him the distrustful glare of someone who knows dumbassery is about to take place. Their hyung spins around to slam his palms against the marble countertop of the breakfast bar to say, without inflection, “We can’t tonight. Hongjoong has a date.”

Hongjoong curls into a tighter ball. Just the word date giving him such butterflies he feels like he’s going to go bursting out of his skin and he tries to hide a grin behind his hands.

“And he’s smiling about it!” Seonghwa goes back to slamming around the kitchen. “I’m so happy I don’t know what to do with myself!”

“Clearly,” Yeosang says, bland and amused in equal measure. He scrapes a hand through Hongjoong’s hair down to his scalp. “We are happy for you, Hongjoong. You know that, right?”

“I know, thank you.” Hongjoong laces their fingers together briefly before letting go so Yeosang can at least get his shirt on properly. His heart feels warm and overfull.

“And,” Yeosang tacks on, “If for some reason it doesn’t work out, you’ve always got us to come home to. We do love you.”

“I know,” Hongjoong breathes. In the background, Seonghwa is crying into a bottle of orange juice he’s pulled from the fridge clutched tightly to his chest along with a wooden spoon for some godforsaken reason. “I’m sorry it never happened for me.”

Yeosang kisses the curve of Hongjoong's ear. “I’m not and I know Seonghwa isn’t either. We just want you to be happy and loved like you deserve.”

 

**\------------------**

 

That night, Yunho takes him to a fancy five star restaurant populated by minor celebrities and local television stars that has a side entrance hidden in the brickwork of a side alley. Inside is dark and sultry, smooth jazz playing over the speakers while a piano lies dormant in the middle of the room. It smells like wine and old cigar smoke.

The maître d' falls over himself leading them to a secluded booth in a back room and Hongjoong bites down on his tongue so he doesn’t laugh. He knows that Yunho is rich, like _Getty_ amounts of rich, but it’s really funny to be on this side looking in watching the stream of overeager wait staff crawling over each other for the chance at whatever commission they’d make on tonight’s food bill.

Yunho hooks a foot around Hongjoong’s ankle hidden beneath the tablecloth. “They have really good fries, hyung.”

“Oh my god,” Hongjoong slaps his menu back against the table to hiss, “Do not tell me you come to this place for _french fries_.”

Yunho just stares back, guileless as ever. “If they didn’t want me to order fries, they wouldn’t put them on the menu.”

“Are you twelve?”

“No, because that would make you a pedophile.” Yunho sticks his tongue out. “I’m going to order a burger.”

“Of course you are,” Hongjoong laughs, continues to smile even after the waitress, who obviously won the coin toss back in the kitchen, comes to take their order and has to write down two burgers and fries with a straight face. Hongjoong does take mercy on her by also ordering a bottle of whatever the nicest single malt they’ve got on the shelf so at least her alcohol commission doesn’t look like shit.

They drive home, Yunho’s penthouse home, in the blue Maserati that still makes Hongjoong’s guts squirm with heat and arousal just being able to touch the sleek interior. Once at the top, Yunho makes Hongjoong cover his eyes, leading him in the direction Hongjoong vaguely recognizes as the bedroom, before revealing a new wardrobe installed on one wall.

“What is this?”

“A gift.” Yunho leans against his back. “Open the doors.”

The _gift_ turns out to be a totally new capsule wardrobe courtesy of Balenciaga and Valentino, all in his size. Hongjoong stares at it. Behind him, Yunho is making shy cut off fragments of, “I just thought, you know, if you wanted to spend time here, or like—”

Hongjoong spins around to pull him into a kiss to save them both the embarrassment.

 

**\------------------**

 

Water beats down around his ears but Hongjoong is too distracted by the noises falling from Yunho’s mouth to really give too much of a fuck about his ear canals being waterlogged.

“Hyung,” Yunho slurs, face pressed against the warm tile of his shower, “Hongjoong, your mouth, _god_.”

Hongjoong only hums back, making Yunho whimper harder, licking into Yunho’s heat as far as he can work his tongue against the clenching muscle while one hand goes to work gently rolling over the head of Yunho’s dick. The pace he sets with his hand is as unhurried as the slow lick of his tongue, and Yunho’s hips are grinding back against him. Hongjoong wants to take his time, wants to stay breathing into the crack of Yunho’s ass until he’s dizzy with it, until he can drown out the white noise in his head trying to tell him he’s allowed to have nice things without working for them.

When Yunho comes, crying because he can never really parse the tide of too much and too good crashing over him, it’s with Hongjoong’s fingers tight around his base and his tongue, the barbell through the middle, pressed dead center against his hole. Hongjoong kisses his neck on the way up to turn off the shower, Yunho makes an aborted little jerk of his arms as if he wants to do something for him, but Hongjoong just presses a kiss to the whorl of each fingertip and dries him off.

They sleep curled together again like lovers while Hongjoong pretends this is okay—this is the place he could call his own, carved into the marrow of this man who spends too easily and loves too much.

 

**\------------------**

 

“I still cannot believe you managed to get us into the Cinderella Suite without us having to wait forever,” Hongjoong says in wonder, swinging their linked hands together waiting in line for the flight that will take them from Incheon to their connection in New York. Yunho is in his incognito mode—old sweatsuit, oversized sunglasses, and an ugly snapback Hongjoong actually bought him in London on a whim—so they can get away with being cute in public.

“Please, this is me we’re talking about,” Yunho yawns, the 6 AM hellscape of early morning red-eye flights getting to him. “I can throw enough money at just about anything to make it happen.”

“Are you talking about Disney or me?” Hongjoong laughs. Either way it’s true which makes this whole ordeal infinitely funnier.

Yunho leans over to blow a raspberry against his cheek while Hongjoong giggles, wiping away the spit. “Hah, hah, very funny.”

Yunho had booked them a shared seat in one of those luxury pods on board. The kind where someone has to knock on the door before entry and the tiny window leading to the aisle is covered by an equally small working shade. Hongjoong actually recognizes one of the stewards working the First Class section and flags her down to whisper, “Leave this pod alone until after lunch service,” and she gives him perverted thumbs up.

Yunho is tired, but apparently not _that_ tired based on the tiny mewls he’s panting quietly into a fist. “Hyung, stop, someone is going to hear us.”

“Then keep your mouth shut,” Hongjoong grins back before dreamily sucking him down again until Yunho hits the back of his throat. It takes three lolling waves of his tongue against the twitching cockhead before Yunho is coming down his throat with a high pitched whine, tears streaming down his cheeks and biting his knuckles raw. He kisses Hongjoong on the way up, angry and biting while Hongjoong groans against the ache in his jaw.

They nap the rest of the way to their three hour layover in New York. After going through customs and exchanging currency, they decide to walk around to windowshop at some of the duty-free luxury boutiques dotted around the airport. Much to Hongjoong’s amusement, Yunho gives the Longchamp display a sneering look. “Not a fan?”

“That shit is so ugly,” Yunho moans within earshot of an employee who gives them a pinched mouth glare. “Two thirds of the shareholder wives are always carrying around that huge tote that looks like it belongs at the beach as if it’s something to be proud of.”

Hongjoong rubs a hand along his back. “To each their own. Let’s go laugh at the Juicy Couture setup.”

“Yeah, alright.” Yunho grabs his hand to lace their fingers together, sweet. “Wait, if I buy you a tracksuit with ‘juicy’ on the ass, will you wear it for me?”

Hongjoong wrinkles his nose up at him. “Are you serious?”

“A little bit.” Yunho lets go to give the swell of his ass a pinch. “You _are_ pretty juicy, Hongjoong.”

“ _Ugh_.” Hongjoong wishes he could keep a straight face in light of Yunho’s snorting laughter. “You’re a real piece of work.”

“I’m going to buy you booty shorts,” Yunho giggles into his ear and kisses his cheek before running off.

 

**\------------------**

 

The first night in Cinderella’s Castle, after being given the historical tour and shown the location to all the amenities, Hongjoong orders fancy fuck champagne—Armand de Brignac by the label, not that it matters much, Hongjoong just pointed at the most expensive one on the list—while Yunho smushes his face against the stained glass windows to peer down at the glimmering lights of the park below. “We should ride Space Mountain first thing tomorrow.”

“Everyone is going to be riding Space Mountain tomorrow,” Hongjoong informs him, lounging against a velvet chaise the hotel arranged in front of an electric fireplace and stomach full with excellent steak from the food service menu. “It’s the Disney World staple.”

“And it’s a staple for a reason,” Yunho mocks back, bratty. Hongjoong narrows his eyes at him. “Tomorrowland is the best part of the park.”

“If you say so.” Hongjoong drowses from the warmth of the room and his full belly. “I want a bearclaw at some point. And churros.”

“Whatever you want.” Yunho walks up to rub the naked line of his legs, massaging his calves while Hongjoong groans in satisfaction. “This is basically your vacation, you can call all the shots.”

Hongjoong stares at him half-lidded, removing his leg from Yunho’s grip so he can push his foot into Yunho’s crotch. “I always call all the shots.”

Yunho’s cheeks pink the longer Hongjoong’s foot rests against him and he smirks when he feels the line of Yunho's cock twitching from the pressure. “Good?” Yunho doesn’t say anything in favor of taking a step forward to press more urgently against his heel. “Taking that as a yes.”

“Yeah,” Yunho gasps. “Everything you do is good.”

Hongjoong ends up leading him to the large four poster bed, tying Yunho’s arms above his head with the cord from his silk robe, and leaves him there while he finishes his expensive champagne. Yunho huffs angry tears when Hongjoong meanders back to gently run the tip of one finger down his throbbing shaft, crying harder when Hongjoong slicks one hand with lube to jack him off until just on the edge and wandering away again to sip from his flute of bubbling alcohol.

“Stop being mean to me,” Yunho sobs when Hongjoong leaves him to jack knife into the air from another wave of being so close, yet so far. “We’re supposed to be on _vacation_.”

“I don’t know about you, but I am vacationing so hard right now,” Hongjoong tells him. He sighs against the velvet chaise as he rubs one lube slicked hand in a teasing line down his front, over his jumping dick, and into his puckered opening, far enough away that Yunho can do nothing but whine and watch. “Are you not having fun, Yunho-yah?”

“Hyung, hyung, please,” Yunho whimpers, arms quaking, “Please let me touch you.”

“You can,” Hongjoong laughs, drool pooling in his mouth from the drag of his fingers against his prostate, “We’ll get there in a minute, babe.”

Yunho whines, struggling between ripping his hands out of the soft silk like Hongjoong knows he’s capable and being obedient; the visible strain between the two makes heat surge through his veins in increasingly urgent waves. Hongjoong finally takes mercy on them both by seating himself on Yunho’s dick in one smooth motion.

“Oh, oh, hyung.” Yunho’s hips fuck up hard and fast, a little jittery and out of rhythm since he can’t get his hands on Hongjoong’s waist for a handhold. “Ugh, _please—_ ”

Hongjoong quiets him with a filthy open mouthed kiss before sitting up to rub a lubed thumb down and under Yunho’s balls pulled tight against his body and rubs it against Yunho’s quivering hole.  Hongjoong can’t bring himself to be angry when Yunho breaks free of the silk belt to yank his face down while they both shake their way through simultaneous orgasms.

 

**\-----------------**

 

The next day, Yunho buys him cardboard tubes of pastel pink cotton candy, a bearclaw, and Minnie Mouse ears, because Yunho is equal parts sweet and a literal child. They actually spend more time walking around window shopping than anything else. Though, Hongjoong is nice enough to stop at Space Mountain before they really get their adventure started just because Yunho gives him that wobbly mouth pout he has yet to figure out how to resist.

“Oh!” Hongjoong stops in the middle of the sidewalk, Yunho jerking to a stop next to him thanks to their hands clasped together at his hip—“So I don’t lose you in the crowd, hyung!” which was just a thinly veiled jab at his height and Hongjoong knows it—“They have a minion display. Yunho, oh my god,” he pulls Yunho along to get a closer look. “I love it, holy shit.”

Yunho leans his weight into Hongjoong’s back with a sarcastic sounding moan. “Please don’t tell me you like those weird little yellow gremlins.” Hongjoong just smiles up at him and holds up a minion with one eye wearing cute little overalls. “I’m taking the Balmain back.”

“Too late, they’re already in the closet at my apartment. No take backs.” Hongjoong sticks his tongue out. Yunho mimes biting it and they laugh together like a couple of prepubescent schoolboys while tourists give them a wide berth on the sidewalk.

Yunho buys him the minion plush.

For the most part, the park is nice. The architecture is gorgeous and the rides are interesting, but Florida also turns out to be hot and humid and awful unless they’re under an awning or sipping down cold butterbeer from Harry Potter world. Yunho’s cheeks and his nose are starting to redden from the beat of the sun when Hongjoong gets smacked in the face with a realization.

The trip feels weird. Hongjoong feels really weird standing in the middle of the Magic Kingdom with a man 20x his net worth bouncing on the balls of his heels while they wait to take a picture with Goofy. He realizes it’s because their vacation feels domestic in a way Hongjoong hasn’t allowed himself to dream of in years—not since college, not since giving up on Seonghwa and Yeosang, not since his growing list of wallets to drain.

At some point Yunho runs off, Hongjoong presumes to go stand in the hellish line for the bathrooms, but he comes back with his face a strange mix of beet red and pale at the same time.

“Everything alright?” Hongjoong laces their hands back together, easy, and he wheezes through his nose against the rush of embarrassment so hot that it makes his ears burn.

Yunho shakes his head, gripping tight to Hongjoong’s fingers.

“Everything’s perfect, don’t worry about it, hyung,” Yunho tells him before leading them in the direction of Club 33 for food and drinks.

Stomachs full with good food and better wine, Yunho leads them through one of the balconies in The Grand Salon to watch the nightly fireworks go off. Hongjoong watches the sparks twinkle for a while until Yunho decides to shift behind him to hug him around the waist.

“Hey,” Yunho whispers against the curve of his ear.

Hongjoong’s traitorous heart stumbles. “Hi,” he whispers back, leaning into Yunho’s chest because Hongjoong knows he can take the weight. “This is nice.”

“Mmm,” Yunho mumbles against his neck. His finger rubs over Hongjoong’s knuckles when he says, “Hyung, you know I—”

Whatever he was going to say gets drowned out by the boisterous party of inebriated sorority girls careening their way onto the balcony beside them and Yunho deflates.

“Ugh, they’re so loud,” Hongjoong whines.

Yunho sounds pissed when he complains, “Tell me about it.”

Hongjoong didn’t know he was so invested in a firework show, but gives the hands around his waist a comforting pat. “Come on, let’s start heading back to the room.”

A woman with a heavy southern accent stops them when Yunho tries to take a selfie against the backdrop of the castle. “You guys are _such_ a cute couple,” and she’s drunk, because there is no way the slur of words is in any way sober. “Would you like me to take your picture?”

Hongjoong stumbles hard enough that his mouse ears go crooked against his forehead. “Oh, I, um we—”

“Thank you,” Yunho interrupts, smooth in the way Hongjoong usually is, handing off his phone and tugging Hongjoong close to press a tender kiss to his cheek while the woman makes overwhelmed noises at the screen. “I think we’re cute, too.”

Hongjoong doesn’t say anything, knows he’s turning red when Yunho curls their hands back together and the woman gives him back his phone.

“This place is turning you into a sap.” Hongjoong squeezes his hand

Yunho squeezes back, giving him a sly, “Well it _is_ the most magical place on Earth.”

Back at the castle, they swap the taste of champagne back and forth in the shower before Yunho leads him away to lay Hongjoong out gently on the floor in front of the fireplace, faux flames crackling, and kisses every speck of skin he reveals as he peels Hongjoong out of his satin robe. They have the most quiet, kink-free, vanilla sex Hongjoong has ever participated in where Yunho takes his time to open him up with his fingers and his tongue before sliding home with a hush of breath. They rock together leisurely then urgently until Hongjoong comes in long spine tingling waves with a wail, Yunho following not long after.

Hongjoong lets himself be pampered, lets Yunho clean him up with minimal bitching, lets Yunho tuck them into bed with a kiss to his forehead. Yunho drops off to sleep spooned behind him, snoring gently, but Hongjoong can’t sleep.

He can't sleep because Hongjoong feels claustrophobic and emotional and devastated.

_Fuck!_

He’s really in love with Yunho.

**\------------------**

 

The trip home is as uneventful as any series of international flights. Yunho eats something that disagrees with his stomach in the JFK food court, and spends most of the flight to Seoul burying his face in Hongjoong’s shoulder moaning about his head hurting and his stomach cramping. Hongjoong just feeds him ginger ale and crackers and dabs at the sweat on Yunho’s brow with the edge of a ₩2,300,000 Balenciaga scarf—effectively ruining the edges but, for once, Hongjoong can’t bring himself to care about it.

He doesn’t even care when Yunho pukes into a barf bag and splatters vomit on the outside of his brand new Converse purchased exclusively for walking around Disney. If that doesn’t demonstrate just how far gone he is for this man, then, _well_. 

Hongjoong expects to be dropped off at his apartment so they go their separate ways until the next time Yunho needs his dick fix, but instead he’s carted away to Yunho’s penthouse where they fall into bed together. They don’t even fuck, just strip down to their underwear and cuddle with Yunho’s head pillowed against Hongjoong’s chest, drooling all over his nipple rings.

Yunho wakes Hongjoong up with a sleepy closed mouth kiss to his cheek and a hand over his cock. They make a mess of their underwear, a mess of the tiles in Yunho’s lavish shower, and Yunho laughs until he snorts when Hongjoong slips on soap, landing on their stash of lube to send an accidental stream of slick at the full length mirror along one wall.

Just as Hongjoong is getting ready for round three, Yunho staring down at him dewy-eyed against the stainless steel door of his refrigerator, Yunho’s home phone starts ringing off the hook.

“Don’t answer that,” Hongjoong cajoles, gently teasing the slowly hardening nubs of Yunho’s nipples with his fingernails, “They can call back later.”

“Yeah,” Yunho sighs, hips twitching against Hongjoong’s own, until the phone rings again. And again. “No, fuck, it’s probably the head office. They might need me.”

Hongjoong huffs, arms crossed while he waits for Yunho to get finished talking about stock prices and investment opportunities. 

“They need me for another conference,” Yunho tells him after hanging up the phone. “Sorry, hyung. Raincheck?”

“Fine,” Hongjoong pouts. It lasts for only a second before Yunho is wiping it away with an affectionate smooch to Hongjoong’s temple.

He’s pulling out a fifth dry-cleaned suit to pack when Yunho decides to devastate him with, “You know, you have a key and the front desk knows your face by now. Can you check the mail for me?”

Hongjoong laughs, wet, “You have people to do that for you.”

Yunho stops folding underwear to consider it, “Check on it anyway so I know someone I can trust is handling my business.” He grins like that’s not the fucking dumbest thing Hongjoong has heard in his life. “Anyway gotta go, text me your next flight plan yeah?” 

And he’s gone out the door, the clack of his suitcase echoing over the marble floors until the door closes behind him, leaving Hongjoong to stand in the middle of an apartment that’s not his own yet still strangely feels like home.

 

**\------------------**

 

Unfortunately, Hongjoong’s flight schedule gets packed to the brim thanks to his sudden vacation. He spends two weeks (and three days) living in cramped crew quarters and hotel accommodations split between himself and coworkers he sees maybe three times a year, speaks to even less. Yunho responds to his pouty texts with equally frowny emojis and an encouraging, “You can do it, hyung! Just a few more days and you’ll be back in Seoul. I’ll buy you that Birkin you want if you can make it without maiming anyone.”

“Stop trying to turn me on,” Hongjoong sighs at him over facetime while Yunho laughs—still on that stupid business conference overseas. “Is it bad that I kind of hate doing this? I just want to come home.”

It’s a little worrying that Hongjoong can’t immediately place which he means—home to his apartment or home to Yunho’s highrise penthouse.

“It’s understandable, hyung, not everyone can live like a nomad,” Yunho whispers to him, “We should talk about it when you get back.”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong blinks slow at the image of Yunho’s grinning face. He’s keeping it too close to his nose so Hongjoong can almost see up one nostril. Hongjoong is drowsing just on the edge of sleep when he confesses, “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Yunho replies, immediately and without shame. “Go to sleep before you bean yourself in the eye with your phone.”

It's nice. For the first time in his short life, Hongjoong truly feels as if he can give himself over to someone to be cared for and loved without needing to run away.

Except...another week goes by and Yunho turns taciturn and ugly, only responding to Hongjoong’s texts with terse one word answers and apologizes but he can’t talk on his phone when Hongjoong tries to call him. He hopes it’s just the stress of too many kiss ass shareholders crawling up his butt when Yunho tries to do anything or make investment decisions, but the tiny, insecure part of him believes it’s because he’s tired of Hongjoong and everything that Hongjoong brings with him.

Two days after Hongjoong gets home and unpacks his suitcase, he unpacks his emotional baggage over the phone with Yujin, who’s spending some of her allotted free days in Hawaii.

Alone.

Allegedly.

He says allegedly because there’s a woman in the background lounging in the sun wearing a Gucci two piece that’s at least in season this time. “Is that Akira?”

Yujin clears her throat, shifts the camera so Hongjoong no longer has a clear view of the lounge chair beside her. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about _you_ and your Mr. Right.”

The Mr. Right who is not on speaking terms with him right now. Hongjoong morosely hugs a pillow tighter to his chest, slugs another gulp of tequila to calm his nerves. “I’m going to get whatever it is you’re doing out of you the next time we work together, you know that right?”

“Shut up,” Yujin laughs at him, “Tell me what it is you called to cry about, my love.”

Hongjoong takes a deep breath, willing away the panic and the horror digging their claws into his chest. “I want to tell Yunho how much I lo- _like_ him.”

Yujin hums and takes a sip from a drink that’s a disturbing neon blue with a little pink umbrella resting against a salted rim. “Then just tell him, babe.”

“But what if I ruin it,” Hongjoong whispers back, like a secret just between the two of them despite her very public face time, drunk already and needy with it. “What if he decides I’m too much and drops me?”

“Honey,” Yujin pouts at him, “If he does, then he wasn’t worth it.”

Hongjoong curls harder into the pillow clutched in a deathgrip to his chest. Quick, before he can change his mind, he spits out, “He’s worth everything, Yujin.”

Yujin goes quiet and still in the camera screen before her breath comes trembling out over the shitty connection and she starts crying in earnest, “Oh. Oh, Hongjoong-ah.”

They cry together for a few minutes before Totally-Not-Akira walks over to silence Yujin with a tender kiss to the edge of her mouth and a gentle, “I don’t know what’s happening, but it will be okay,” in a thick Japanese accent, something that sounds like the people Hongjoong met in Hokkaido a few times. “Do your best. Ganbatte, kudasai.”

“Ganbatte!” Yujin wails in the background before the line goes dark.

 

**\-----------------**

 

Light streams in between his curtains the next morning to smack Hongjoong directly in his hungover fucking eyeballs, and he wakes up just enough to realize:

  1. He sent Yunho a text at 3 P.M. which says 'i want you to know i love you'
  2. There's a heart stopping ‘seen by…’ underneath along with the green little check mark not ten minutes later.
  3. There’s no reply, no missed calls, and when Hongjoong tries to get Yunho on the phone, his own call goes unanswered.



Hongjoong continues to get no answer until, finally, on the third attempt in as many hours, the line cuts out to an automated voice telling him in no uncertain terms that this number is no longer in service. No longer in service or no longer wanting to associate with him, might as well be one and the same.

He stares at the screen until it goes dead, waits for the pain to hit and—when it does—flings his phone as hard as he can against the wall just to hear the satisfying clatter of the screen breaking away from its case.

Just his luck, the first person Hongjoong has ever given his whole heart to and all they do is turn around and throw it right back in his face.

 

**\------------------**

 

Hongjoong doesn’t bother to check his appearance before opening the door of his apartment. Whoever is jamming their finger on the chime can accept his disheveled self, ruddy cheeks and swollen eyes be damned, or they can go back to their own fucking apartment. He expects it to be Yeosang or Seonghwa—because he hasn’t checked in with either of them in three days, oops—or Yujin, assuming she’d finally returned from that extended Hawaiian rotation with a nameless Japanese woman who is definitely not Akira.

He doesn’t expect Jeong-fucking-Yunho.

Jeong Yunho who dropped him like a hot potato not even a week ago. Jeong Yunho who took him to Disney World so they could fuck in Cinderella’s Castle and ended up spending more time in the gift shops than they did in bed. Jeong Yunho who is still gorgeous as ever, hair still that faded minty blue Hongjoong lo- _liked_ so much. Jeong Yunho who deleted his number and cut contact after Hongjoong stupidly decided to confess - too greedy for more than he’s destined to have with someone so obviously perfect and out of his league.

Hongjoong slams the door in his face.

Before the door can shut completely, Yunho blocks the edge with his foot. “Hyung! Hear me out, please!”

“I’m not speaking to you!” Hongjoong shoves against the door with his shoulder. “ _You’re_ not speaking to _me_.”

“Hyung, it’s not what you think, I swear! I’m—” Yunho breaks off to curse as Hongjoong finally manages to get his foot out of the doorway enough to get the door shut, lock clicking into place with a satisfying click. “Please, if you won’t let me in then just listen to me from there.”

Anger and hurt take turns vying for the top contender in Hongjoong’s heart.

“Why should I?”

There’s a long pause from the other side of the door. Hongjoong waits, barely breathing.

“Because I don’t want to lose you,” Yunho says, deep and guttural like he’s choking on the words as they fall from his mouth. “Because I know you love me.”

Hongjoong thunks his head against the grain of his walnut door. “You just don’t want to lose out on the sex.” His heart shrivels further in his chest, blackened and withering to dust. “Get it somewhere else, I can’t do this anymore.”

There’s a soft sound against the wood, as if Yunho is rubbing a palm against it trying to reach through and touch him. “Hyung. Hongjoong.” Yunho’s voice is watery. The best kind of watery not unlike the time at Cinderella’s stupid fucking beautiful Castle. “Open the door.”

Metal, cool and hard, bites into his palm as Hongjoong grips the doorknob tight—too tight—indecision raging in his veins. “Beg.”

“No,” Yunho sighs, Hongjoong wants to laugh. Of course, _of course,_ Yunho takes this as the perfect opportunity to be an obnoxious disobedient shitstain. “Open the door.”

“Fine,” Hongjoong bites out and rips it open fast in hopes Yunho stumbles to his ass. He doesn’t, because there’s no justice in the world. “Say whatever it is you want to say and get the fuck away from my apartment.”

Yunho looks like wilted, bruised fruit. His jacket isn’t even ironed. “Hongjoong-ah.”

“That’s hyung to you,” Hongjoong mutters, upset that his name in Yunho’s mouth makes his heart tremble still. “I can’t believe you think just because I’ve opened the door, you can—”

“I love you.”

Whatever was about to come out of his mouth goes wheezing through the gap of his teeth. Hongjoong stares at him. “What?”

“I’m in love with you.” Yunho visibly swallows, reaches into one pocket shaking like a leaf and reveals a treasure obviously worn soft from too much nervous rubbing. He can almost envision with picture perfect clarity the sweep of Yunho’s fingers as he anxiously fiddles with the box in his pocket. “I wanted to say that to you days ago, but I dropped my phone at the conference and lost all my contact data.”

Hongjoong stares at the velvet box, closed and taunting him with a secret so gut wrenchingly beautiful he can’t breathe, hasn't inhaled in what feels like eons.

“When did you get that?”

“A month ago.” Yunho wipes at his eyes, still shaking; Hongjoong has no right to criticize because he’s no better.

“Disney.” Hongjoong whispers, barely audible. He _knew_ something had felt off during that trip.

“Yes.”

“We, we should—” Hongjoong’s lungs struggle to function. “We should talk about—”

“Can we start over?” Yunho’s interrupts him, lips wobbling. “Can we please just start this whole thing over and do it right?” He walks close enough to grab Hongjoong’s thin wrist, uncurls the tight white-knuckled fist, and places the shape of his heart into the center of Hongjoong’s palm. “My name is Jeong Yunho. I’m the CEO of a multi billion won corporation. I’m just a man and I’m in love with you.”

“Kim Hongjoong,” he sobs back, the lid of the box flipped open to reveal a cluster of blue diamonds inset into a thin band of platinum. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please,” Hongjoong looks up to catch Yunho’s eyes—irritated and bruised and sweet and everything Hongjoong has ever wanted. “ _Please_ don’t hesitate to ask.”

Yunho’s face is hideously red, pale in places where the blood is cut off awkwardly by crumpled skin. His nose is running. There are tears working their way down his neck and soaking into the collar of a well loved, well faded SNU shirt.

When he smiles—

The gleaming white of Yunho’s teeth, the deep trenches of his dimples, the soft wrinkling of skin under the happy curve of his eyes is more beautiful than any ₩50,000 note Hongjoong has ever seen.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> big s/o to all the filthy enablers in my inbox and on discord, i love you
> 
> \- Ash <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] I'm In Control (Throw it Away)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23034706) by [ahegaojoong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahegaojoong/pseuds/ahegaojoong)




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